


Loser, Geek, Whatever

by krolium



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Be More Chill, Alternate Universe - High School, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krolium/pseuds/krolium
Summary: After Allura rejects him, Lance turns to a high-tech supercomputer for relationship advice. The results are predictably disastrous.Inspired byBe More Chill. Hiatus.





	1. Survival of the Fittest

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I'm back with another crack fic!! For some reason, all my Pidgance fics are about drugs? I'm sorry, they really deserve better. Fair warning: some characters (Matt especially) will seem OOC for a bit. This will be explained. Don't worry.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know Be More Chill, you should be able to read this without listening to it (though I recommend you do, because it's a riot). For anyone who does: I've taken a lot of liberties with this. Don't expect the characters to correlate one-to-one with those from Be More Chill, and don't expect the plot to go exactly the same way. That said, if you do recognize any lines, all credit goes to Joe Iconis and everyone else involved with the musical :)
> 
> With that, here we go....

"C’mon, c’mon…. Go already!"

Lance was hunched over in a swivel chair, chin resting in his hand, elbow on the desk in front of him. His left foot tapped endlessly on the ground in time with his twitching fingers, and he was wearing nothing but plain white socks and a pair of baby blue boxers.

 _"What’s going on?"_ his friend, Hunk, asked, voice muffled through the spongy material of Lance’s headset. The headset was blue as well, and so were the neon lights emitting from the keyboard and mouse of his computer.

Lance slammed the space bar, careless of any possible damage, then grumbled, "I think Rachel’s downloading videos again; I can’t connect."

"Well, try to get on quick," Hunk said, like Lance wasn’t already trying to go quick. "We don’t wanna be late."

"I know!" he shot back. With an impatient grunt, he decided to restart the program entirely, going through the motions with a few jerks of the mouse. " _Go, go!"_

There came a knock on the door. "Lance?" his mom called from behind it. "You aren’t playing _Tentlite_ , are you? The bus comes in less than half an hour!"

"Ughhh...." Lance muted the mic, pulling off his headset in case his mother decided to come in. "No, Mom! Just finishing up some summer assignments!" he shouted back, and she walked away.

Lance was totally playing _Tentlite_ —or at least, he would be, if Rachel ever quit binge-watching sitcoms in HD.

Slinging his headset back over his ears, he hit the ‘connect’ button again. When that didn’t work, he started clicking ad nauseam, index finger smashing the mouse with increasing aggression. Finally, Hunk spoke up. "Okay, man, I don’t think we have time anymore. Why don’t we just meet up after school?"

"Hunk, it’s our first day of class! You’ve got robotics club, and I’m-"

"Gonna be joining whatever Allura signs up for?" Hunk finished, and though he wasn’t exactly wrong, Lance wasn’t sure he liked his derisive tone. He couldn’t see Hunk’s face, but Lance could imagine him wrinkling his nose and rolling his eyes on the other end. "Yeah, I know. I meant after that. It’s not like we’re gonna have much homework on the first day, anyway." He took in a breath, then let it out with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "I’ll see you later, man. I’ve gotta sign off before my mom chews me out."

Lance nodded. Then, he realized that Hunk couldn’t see him nodding from three miles away, so he said, "yeah, same. I’ll see you in class."

As he ended their voice chat, Lance’s mom knocked on the door again. "One sec!" he yelled, edging back in his swivel chair so he could look around at his room.

"Now," he muttered to himself, "where the cheese did I put my pants?"

* * *

Lance hated school. Everyday, he had to go to the same six classes with the same six teachers while they talked about the same six subjects he wasn’t even good at. He tended to get so bored that he’d fall asleep in class, leaving him dazed and confused all day. By the end of fourth period, he was more than ready for his lunch block, ignoring the small puddle of drool he’d left on his notebook as he shoved it in his backpack. Stretching, he sauntered out of the chemistry room, not even bothering to zip his backpack shut. He couldn’t believe that this was only the first day. It felt like he’d been in class for an eternity.

Still wiping sleep from his eyes, he wandered down the hallway toward the cafeteria. At least he and Hunk had lunch together. Otherwise, his whole day would be boring. He still had three hours left, and all he wanted to do was go home and play _Tentlite._ Heck, he might have four hours left, counting clubs.

Briefly, he wondered which clubs Allura would be joining (because, fine, Hunk might’ve been right. He totally wanted to join the same clubs as her). Allura was so cool. Not only was she pretty, but she was smart, and fashionable, and she had the coolest-

"Hey, loser!" a voice jeered from behind him.

As much as Lance knew he wasn’t a loser, the voice was too close and the hall was too empty for this person to be addressing anyone but him. Lance glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Matt," he said, stifling a groan.

Matt wasn’t always one of the school bullies. In fact, according to Veronica (his big sister), Matt used to be one of the nerds in the programming club. Then, abruptly, he’d turned into a punk-rocker jerk who dyed his hair crazy colors. Today, he was rocking a red streak (last year, it’d been purple) and a tie-dyed shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

In lieu of a reply, Matt shoved Lance into the lockers lining the wall. "Your backpack’s unzipped, nerd," he muttered in Lance’s ear. Lance felt something on his back (he assumed it was Matt zipping up his bag, though he wasn’t quite sure why the school bully would pin him to a wall just to zip his backpack). Before Lance could get over the shock of his face ramming into the hard-metal lockers, though, Matt let him go and ran off.

“Okay then….” Lance mumbled to himself as Matt disappeared around the corner. But, he figured, so long as he wasn’t seriously injured (beyond some bruising where his chest had hit the lockers), it was probably best to leave Matt alone. Best to keep away from the guy who’d given Shiro a black eye last year.

Honestly, Matt was just one more reason why Lance hated school. Seriously, Lance _wasn’t_ a loser. Just because some jerks thought Lance was kind of lame, didn’t mean that he wasn’t the coolest guy in school. They just hadn’t realized it yet. Someday, Lance would get his time to shine, and then he’d razzle-dazzle the whole school. Especially Allura. Lance liked Allura. Especially her posh accent. She was from some obscure country that Lance couldn’t remember the name of (Ikea or something?), but it pretty much sounded like a rich-people accent. Even the way she said his _name_ was cool. Lance found himself mouthing it under his breath in the hallway. " _Lahhhnce. Lahhnce. Lahhnce Ahhlvahhrez."_

But then it happened: an angel entered the hall. Lance’s heart skipped a beat or five as he took in her dark skin, flowing silvery hair (Lance _had_ to figure out where she got it dyed), and her perfectly-symmetrical supermodel face.

It was Allura.

"Hi, Allura!" Lance cried out as he tried to walk calmly down the hall. It didn’t work, and within seconds, he was sprinting toward her like a lightning bolt to metal.

Allura looked taken aback for a second, eyes wide and jaw slack. Then, abruptly, she plastered on a dazzling smile, and Lance noticed for the billionth time that even Allura’s _teeth_ were perfect—white, straight, and sparkly as a row of sculpted pearls.

"Hello, Lance," she said as he skidded to a halt in front of her. "How are you?"

“I’m good!” he shouted before wincing. Wow, was he always that loud? That was embarrassing. Forcing himself to act casual, he stretched his arms over his head, flexing his biceps as he shot Allura his best smolder. "I mean, I’m good," he repeated smoothly. "Hey, are you sure you’re not a princess? Because you totally look like royalty today."

"Oh, thank you!" Allura replied. Her smile didn’t waver, but her brow furrowed. For a moment, Lance wondered if he was making her uncomfortable. That didn’t make sense, though. It was just him and Allura. Why would she be uncomfortable around him? He scrubbed the thought from his brain, resolving to find another pickup line instead.

Before Lance could find a suitable line about her brilliant hair, though, Allura spoke up. "Er, did someone write ‘BOYF’ on your backpack?"

Lance hadn’t noticed until now, but his backpack had fallen off one shoulder so it was facing Allura (it must’ve slipped during his stretch-n-flex bit). With a shiver of embarrassment, he noticed that someone _had_ written ‘BOYF’ on his backpack.

Well, that explained Matt.

Swallowing his embarrassment, Lance puffed out his chest. "Uhh, y-yeah!" he said, flushing as his voice cracked. "It’s short for ‘boyfriend material’, which is incidentally what I’m made of."

 _Nailed it,_ Lance thought to himself, giving himself a mental fist-bump. That line was pretty flippin’ smooth, if he did say so himself. Allura was bound to ask him out after that one.

However, when Lance turned back to Allura, she was frowning at him. "Good for you," she said flatly, eyes weary and gaze unimpressed. "Well, Lance, I need to meet with a teacher. I’ll talk to you later." With that, she pushed past him and made her way down the hall, her pink tulle skirt swaying gracefully as she went.

"Yeah, I’ll see you around!" Lance called to her, but she was already out of sight.

Dejected, he made his way to the cafeteria. What was up with Allura?

* * *

Luckily, he didn’t have to sit alone at the lunch table for very long before Hunk slumped down next to him.

“Hey, what’s up?” Hunk asked, setting his backpack under the table. "You look depressed."

Lance speared one of the carrots on his tray. It was mushy and gross and he didn’t want to eat it, but stabbing it with his plastic spork felt kinda therapeutic, in a way. “I dunno. I feel like Allura keeps blowing me off!”

Hunk’s face went slack, like Lance had just said something deep and philosophical. "Wow, you finally noticed," he said, voice full of awe.

Lance elbowed Hunk in the side. "Shut up! I just don’t know what to do. It’s almost like she doesn’t like me back or something."

Hunk deadpanned. "Ya don’t say?"

"Yeah, I know!" Lance shot back, dropping his spork so he could put an affronted hand on his chest. "I told her she looked like royalty, and she just left to go meet with a teacher. I didn’t even have time to ask for her number."

As Lance turned back to his tray, he heard Hunk stifle a snort. "That’s probably a good thing."

Lance choked back a groan, shoving a spoonful of soggy mashed potato into his mouth. Hunk was usually a supportive friend, but whenever Lance started talking about Allura, he seemed to grow impatient. It was as if Lance was so utterly hopeless with girls (he wasn't) that it was unthinkable that Lance would ever win over Allura (again, it wasn't). “I don’t get it. Girls love me, so why doesn’t she? And why the heck did Matt write ‘BOYF’ on my backpack?”

While Lance had been talking, Hunk had set his backpack on his lap to pull out his lunchbox, but that seemed to grab his attention. “Wait a minute," he muttered, trailing off as he set his backpack on the table, still unzipped. He turned it around for Lance to see. Across the back of it, in bold, black Sharpie, was the word 'RIENDS'.

Lance didn't even think that was a word. He turned to Hunk, confused, but Hunk just motioned toward the ground.

"What?" Lance mused, turning down toward his shoes—no, wait, his backpack! Following Hunk's nonverbal command, Lance set his backpack on the table next to Hunk's so it spelled 'RIENDS BOYF'. Lance cocked his head to the side. That didn't seem right. Who was this mysterious Riend, and how had he obtained a boyf? Also, what was a boyf?

Hunk rolled his eyes, mumbling, "no, like this," as he switched their backpacks around.

Suddenly, everything became sickeningly clear: their backpacks spelled out 'BOYFRIENDS'. Matt had taken a homophobic jab at them.

This time, Lance didn't even bother holding back his groan. “I hate this school,” he spat, resting his face in his hands.

Hunk didn't seem nearly as upset. “Romelle’s probably not gonna be happy that I’m cheating on her,” he added, almost contemplatively. Though Lance refused to look up (he was blushing, which was embarrassing), he imagined that Hunk was stroking his chin like a detective in a cartoon.

As if on cue, a light voice with a British lilt interrupted their conversation. “Hunk, I wasn’t aware we were in an open relationship,” Romelle greeted as she sat down beside them. As Lance finally looked up (his face had cooled off, so he was in the clear), his eyes fell on Romelle's intricately-braided hair. If he wasn't mistaken, it was an exact replica of Tauriel from the _Hobbit_ trilogy, except that Romelle's hair was a brilliant blonde instead of auburn.

“It’s not," Hunk replied, placing a gentle arm around Romelle's shoulder, fingers falling over the Star Trek insignia on the corner of her blue tee-shirt. "I think Matt’s messing with us again.”

Romelle placed her hand on top of Hunk's, made the sappiest googly eyes Lance had ever seen, then asked in her sweetest voice, “would you like me to pummel him?"

Lance, who had just taken a sip of under-sweetened chocolate milk, almost did a spit-take. Honestly, Romelle looked so innocent that he sometimes forgot how vicious she could be. He didn't know any other girl on the planet who could just _say_ something like that with a straight face.

Without paying any mind to Lance's spluttering, Romelle added, "I can defend our honor while you find a way to wash permanent marker off of your backpacks!”

She looked ready to jump out of her seat and challenge Matt to a genuine Fire Nation-style Agni Kai, so Lance waved his hands and blurted, "no, no pummeling today!! Honestly, I just need some better pick-up lines and I'm good to go."

Romelle raised an eyebrow. "Are you still trying to win over _Princess Allura?"_ she asked, lips curling into a satisfied smile.

Against his will, Lance flushed red again. "Shut up! I only wrote that in my notes once!"

“Of course," Romelle said, and though her tone sounded agreeable enough, he got a sinking feeling that she'd only said that to get him to shut up. "Well, I’m afraid we can’t help there, Hunk and I never used pickup lines."

It seemed like that was all she was willing to say on that front. Without sparing Lance another glance, she immediately turned back to Hunk and asked, "are you excited for robotics club?”

“You know it," Hunk said with an eager grin. "Are you ready for our _Twilight Zone_ binge this weekend?”

“Obviously!” she told him, barely holding back an excited squeal.

Lance contorted his face, making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Ugh, you two are such nerds.” Sure, he loved _The Twilight Zone_ , but he wasn't about to talk about it at school where Allura could overhear him.

“At least we aren’t deluding ourselves into thinking we’re not nerds," Romelle taunted, sticking out her tongue around a teasing smirk. "Sorry to say it, but Allura might be out of your league.”

“Hey, I’m not de-losing myself!" Lance shot back. "I’m making progress!” That was a bald-faced lie, and everyone at the table knew it, but Lance wasn't about to admit that to the world.

Hunk’s eye twitched. "It’s _deluding_ , and no, you’re not."

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Lance asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

At this point, he really couldn't blame his friends for acting like this whenever he brought up Allura. He'd been pursuing her for years now, meticulously researching the types of things that popular girls like her tended to like in an attempt to impress her. When that yielded no results, he only upped the ante, focusing on his image and flirting with Allura relentlessly. He knew that it had to be annoying, but he didn't know what else to do.

Allura was different from the other girls Lance had flirted with in the past. She was smart, and cool, and she made Lance want to be a better person. He would give anything to be worthy of her attention, even if it meant not talking about his geeky interests or spending twenty minutes choosing an outfit every morning. Allura was just that important.

"Honestly?" Romelle posited, pulling a face at Lance. "I think you should get a hobby.”

She didn't understand: Allura _was_ his hobby.

Apparently, Hunk didn't understand either. "That’s what I was gonna say! Why don’t you come to robotics club with me after class? The sign-up sheet’s right over there." He motioned over to the giant bulletin board on the wall opposite the lunch line. On it, next to a dated summer camp flier, was a large poster with the words 'ROBOTICS CLUB' printed across the top. From what little Lance had heard about robotics club, it sounded like a lot of fun. Participants got to design and create a robot with their team that would go head-to-head in a wrestling match against other robots in the club. The winner would participate in a statewide match with a bunch of other clubs. It was like the robot matches in Big Hero 6, except they were legal and probably not as high-tech. It was everything Lance could possibly ask for in a club.

It was also ridiculously nerdy. "I don't think so, buddy," Lance said, shaking his head.

Romelle was unfazed. "Ooh, maybe you could go to improv club with me, then! Or perhaps you could go to the Monsters and Mana club tomorrow. And there’s fencing club on Friday! That would be loads of fun: even if you don’t make any friends, you might have the chance to stab Keith! And it wouldn’t even be illegal!”

Tempting though the prospect of dueling Keith was (Lance suddenly imagined he and Keith as Westley and Inigo in _The Princess Bride,_ bantering as they showed off their epic sword-fighting skills), Lance figured the fencing club would probably get him pegged as a loser just as much as the robotics club would. And Lance was not about to give this school another reason to think he was a loser. "Heck no," he said, shaking his head. "No way am I going to one of your nerd clubs. If anything, I should join the football team, or the basketball team, or something that’ll impress Allura."

Speaking of Allura, he saw her strut into the cafeteria just then, looking cool as ever with her flowing freely behind her. He hadn't noticed before, but she was wearing a jean jacket with her tulle skirt, and it had to be the hottest thing he'd seen all day. Allura was so cool.

Romelle deflated. "Why is everything about impressing Allura?" she asked, but Lance was barely paying attention.

“Thank you! That's a good point, isn't it, Lance?" Hunk replied as Lance's gaze followed Allura across the lunch room and over to- the bulletin board?

“Hush!" Lance cried, raising a finger in front of his mouth as he motioned over to the board. "Look over there."

Hunk turned toward it. "What?"

Lance held back a gasp as he saw Allura pull out a pink gel pen and _write her name on the sign-up sheet._ "Allura’s signing up for robotics club!" Lance stage-whispered, jaw slack, barely holding back his awe.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense," Hunk said, shrugging nonchalantly like this wasn't a huge deal. "Didn’t she go to that fancy engineering camp over the summer? The same one that Shiro went to?"

Lance hadn't heard about that, but it didn't matter right now. "Who cares?" he replied as he reached down, fishing in his backpack for a pen. "I need to sign up!"

“Are you sure, Lance?" Hunk asked, dubious. "I thought it was a nerd club.”

Romelle let out a giggle, placing a gentle kiss on Hunk's cheek. "Darling, no club that _Princess Allura_ joins could possibly be a nerd club. Right Lance?"

"Shut up!" Lance said, but he was too distracted to care about Romelle’s mockery. Face flushed, he made his way to the sign-up sheet, feeling the blood settle in his head and his hands go cold and clammy at his sides. He tightened his fist around his mechanical pencil, barely keeping his thumb from fidgeting with the eraser.

It didn’t matter if people thought he was a lame: Allura signed up for the robotics club, so Lance would too.


	2. Almost Hopeless

“Alfora, Allura!” proclaimed the robotics club supervisor, a middle-aged man with ginger hair and a strong New Zealand accent. His name was Mr. Smythe, though he insisted that everyone refer to him by his first name, Coran. Coran Smythe—not a bad name, but Allura’s was better.

Lance loved Allura’s name; it was just as elegant as Allura herself. _Allura Alfora._ It sounded like the name of some mystical fairytale princess, or maybe an elf from _Lord of the Rings_.

Or both. Allura would make a pretty epic Arwen.

“Alvarez, Lance!” was next on the roll, but Lance was only half-listening as he raised his hand in reply. He was too busy imagining Allura in long elven robes and elaborate silver jewelry. At some point in his fantasy, Lance entered in a full suit of armor to sweep her off her feet, and they rode off into the sunset together, hobbits and all-powerful ring forgotten.

By the time Hunk nudged him on the shoulder and asked, “hey, were you listening?”, Lance had already missed Coran’s entire run-down of the club’s itinerary.

“Uhhh….”

Hunk pinched the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’. I’ll give you the basics. Coran just divided us into four teams of five (well, one of those is a team of six, but you get the point). Since I told him that I knew you already and I could show you the ropes (and because I’m a favorite), he put us into the same group, but it’s mostly random. He’s writing out the teams right now.”

“You didn’t get Allura in our group?” Lance asked, glancing across the room to where Allura was sitting at her desk; prim and put-together, her posture impeccable.

Hunk shook his head. “Allura’s new too, so no.”

“But you could show her the ropes!" Lance gesticulated in Allura's direction without even noticing. The moment he realized he was doing it, he let his hands fall to his sides so as not to draw attention, then added, under his breath, "or better yet, you could show me the ropes, then _I_ could show her the ropes.”

Hunk nodded toward Allura. “Sorry, but Shay already volunteered,” he said, shrugging at Lance like there was nothing more he could do. Turning toward Allura again (he hoped she hadn't noticed), he saw that she was sitting beside Shay, a coworker of Hunk's who had a tall, broad frame and short, frizzy hair. They seemed to be eagerly chatting with each other, and Lance wondered whether they were good friends. Maybe Lance should get to know Shay better. Not only could he get a potential link with Allura, but he'd get to hang out with Hunk at the Shake Shack more often.

But that wasn't important right now. Right now, he needed to find out how to impress Allura from the other end of the room. “Whatever," he muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "So, what team are we on?”

Happy to change topics, Hunk smiled and said, “well, it’s probably on the board by n- oh. Oh no.” His face fell slack as his eyes stayed trained on the whiteboard, wide and full of terror.

Lance cocked an eyebrow, scanning the board for his name. “What?”

After about five seconds of silent searching, Lance managed to find it. It was written in neat, uppercase font in blue dry-erase marker, and there were four names below it: Hunk, Shiro-

“Keith?!” Lance yelped. He didn’t even look at the fourth name. This was the worst thing he'd experienced all day—worse than his computer not working, worse than school, worse than getting bullied by Matt or ignored by Allura.

Why did it have to be Keith?

“Yeah?” replied someone right behind him, and Lance knew that voice anywhere.

“No!" Lance swiveled on his feet toward Keith. "No, no, no! I am not on a team with Keith!” He turned back to Hunk, half-expecting him to reveal some masterplan to keep Keith off their team, but he just shrugged again and turned his eyes toward the ground.

Keith, for his part, gave Lance a long-suffering look and let out a slow, dejected sigh. “Look, I’m not happy about it either, but let’s just not make a big deal about it? We’ve got work to do, so there’s no point in-”

“Ughhh, seriously?" Lance interrupted, not even paying attention to Keith's proposed truce. Ha, like he'd ever truce with Keith. "Okay, so there’s _you_ , Hunk, Shiro, and some other guy?”

“Right here!” cried another, more nasal voice to Lance's right. Glad for a reason to look away from Keith, Lance turned toward the voice and saw the shortest high school boy he'd ever laid eyes on.

He was about five-foot-three, his body naught but pale skin and wiry bones that jutted out and made his joints look knobby. Everything about him was thin except his face, which was round like a child's with large amber eyes so light, they were almost the color of honey. His hair was long for a boy's, not quite reaching the base of his neck, and fell in loose, mousey curls in front of his face. On his nose sat a pair of round, wire-framed spectacles, and his clothes looked like typical geek attire.

Now that Lance thought about it, everything about this kid kinda screamed 'geek-boy'; from his oversized polo shirt, to his high-waisted khakis that were rolled up at the ends so they didn't fall below his feet. He was clutching a large laptop in his arms that was covered in stickers from various nerd franchises. Geek-Boy would have fit right in at Best Buy's tech support booth, if he didn't look about thirteen. His face was so round, it was almost effeminate. Was this kid really a high schooler?

“So, uhh," Lance babbled, trailing off dumbly. He realized his jaw was hanging, so he closed his mouth before Allura could see. He didn't quite know what to make of Geek-Boy, but something about him seemed different.

"So, uhhh, what?" Keith shot back, arms crossed over his chest.

"This is it?" Lance asked, forcing himself to look away from Geek-Boy. "This is everyone?”

“Yeah," Keith said, lip curled into a sneer. "There a problem?”

It was just Lance, Hunk, some Geek-Boy, Shiro, and _Keith_. Not a single hot babe to be found.

“Aw man," Lance despaired with a melodramatic moan. "I joined the robotics team to pick up cute girls!”

Geek-Boy put his hands on his hips and gave Lance a deadpan glare. “Excuse me?”

Anticipating Geek-Boy's complaints and not even bothering to refute them, Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re supposed to be here to build some robot-thingy and you’re mad that I’m not about that. But, like, I’m just here for the ladies, okay? I did _not_ sign up to be on a team with four other boys.”

Geek-Boy raised an eyebrow. “Uh, dude? I’m a girl.”

And suddenly, Geek-Boy wasn’t Geek- _Boy_ at all.

Lance spluttered. “You’re a girl?!”

Then, Shiro spoke up, placing a firm hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance had no idea how he'd managed to get so close without him noticing. "Lance, I don't know if you know this, but women are severely underrepresented in STEM-related activities. I mean, even if you are just trying to pick up girls (which sounds kind of objectifying to begin with), this isn't exactly the best place to do it. You'd probably have better luck at the yoga club. Or the knitting club…."

It looked like Shiro wanted to go on, but Keith cleared his throat. “Shiro? That’s a great point—really, it is—but he’s just trying to impress Allura.”

“Seriously? But why-”

“Because he’s Lance,” Keith said, sniffing in disdain.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance replied. Keith was such a jerk.

“It means," Geek-Boy- er, Geek-girl butt in, "that we need to focus on our project. I don’t care why you did it; you signed up for this club, so suck it up and deal with it. I don’t care if you’re just here for the ladies, you get to help us now.”

Shiro nodded, walking over to the nearest cluster of desks and setting his backpack down beside it. “Pidge is right. We should-”

“Wait, so your name is Pidge?” Lance asked her.

Her lips curved down into a pout. “My name is Katie Holt. Only my friends call me Pidge.”

“Well, Pidge-”

“Didn’t you hear me?" she exclaimed, eyes narrowing behind her big, round glasses. "My friends call me Pidge. You can call me Katie.”

Right before his eyes, the eighty-pound little girl in front of him transformed into something vicious and terrifying, a lioness ready to pounce. Her light-brown eyes bored into him like red-hot metal in his chest, and Lance could've sworn he'd just shrunk a few inches in front of her.

“Katie," he stuttered out, sticking out a shaky hand. "Nice to meet you.”

After giving Lance a skeptical once-over, Katie took his hand and shook it. “Pleasure's all mine. Now get to work."

* * *

The rest of robotics club was, as Lance could have predicted, a complete disaster. It had been a serious mistake, getting on Katie's bad side. As it turned out, Katie was a total super-genius who probably could have designed and built a robot by herself if she'd wanted to. She'd been coding since she was six, which Hunk didn't hesitate to point out under his breath when Lance tried to protest making her team leader. She'd also skipped a grade, so even though she was a year younger than Lance, they were both juniors.

Great. This was… great. Just what he needed—another person out to get him.

He didn't even get to talk to Allura until after the club was over. Luckily, she didn't seem to be talking to anyone else while she slid her fancy laptop into her backpack, white-silver hair swaying as she zipped it up and slung it over her shoulders.

“Hey Allura!" he called out, trying to keep his cool as he approached her. He already had a line in his head. He could do this. "Y’know, if you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.”

His voice didn't even crack. He would've pumped his fist if he weren't in public.

"Hello, Lance." Allura gave him a half-hearted smile. Maybe she was amused? Lance could work with that.

"So, uh, how're you liking the club so far?" he asked. He was still surprised that Allura had gone for something so geeky. Wasn't she too posh for this kind of stuff?

Allura's eyes lit up at that. It was probably the first time he'd seen her so excited all day (although he hadn't gotten to look at her much during the club, no thanks to Keith and Katie). "It's wonderful!" she replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet like her whole body was supercharged with energy. "Our group has already started to lay out a design for our robot, and we've divvied out all the roles, so I think we're off to a good start! How is your group doing?"

"Oh, uhh…." Lance cut off with a nervous laugh, thinking back to when he and Keith had nearly gotten into a fistfight over who would get to control the robot in the first stages. Keith had wanted Shiro to do it; Lance thought he was the best gamer and thus the best suited to the job. In the end, Katie had yelled at both of them to shut up and put it up to a vote (Shiro won, and Lance was still bitter). "Okay, I guess. I think I got on Katie's bad side, though."

"Pidge?" Allura clarified, one eyebrow raised. Oh, so apparently Allura was friends with her, but Lance wasn't? Did everyone know Katie? "But she's one of the nicest girls I know! Nothing like her brother."

Lance narrowed his eyes. He didn't need two Katie's walking around the school. "Her brother?"

"Matt Holt," she said, and Lance involuntarily flinched at the very mention of him.

"It all makes sense now," he muttered. No wonder she'd hated him so much. She was Matt's sister! He didn't even know Matt had a sister! This was awful. Matt would probably beat him up even worse, now that Katie hated him as well.

Allura shook her head, edging back a step so she could lean on the desk behind her. "She's not like him, though. Last year, my math grades were slipping, so she tutored me for quite some time. I ended up falling in love with the subject, and, well-"

"You decided to join a robot club?" Lance finished for her. Suddenly, Katie didn't seem so bad. She'd helped Allura with her math homework, which Lance could never dream of doing. He hated math.

"Yes, exactly!"

He hated math, but he did know a couple of relevant lines for the occasion. "Well, I’m no mathematician, but…" he said, trailing off to let Allura reply.

"Er, what?" she asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Even her eyebrows were white; what was this witchcraft? Did she pencil them in, or was she just a mystical elven being? Lance wasn't quite sure. Allura was just that powerful—she made him believe in magic.

He had a line to finish, though. "I'm no good at math," he repeated, then added, "but I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it."

Allura's face fell. It was like Lance had just told her that he'd keyed her Maserati. "Lance," she said, stone-cold and serious as one of those old Greek statue-thingies. "I think we need to talk."

In that moment, it all came together in Lance's head: Allura was trying to ask him out! This was awesome. He'd _told_ Hunk he'd been making progress. That had to be why she'd blown him off earlier. She wasn't trying to ignore him; she was just nervous about asking him out.

"Oh, really?" he drawled, waggling his eyebrows and putting on his most flirtatious grin.

Her face didn't soften in the slightest. "Yes, in private," she replied, stepping forward to reach toward him. "Follow me."

She took his hand in her own, leading him out the classroom door and around the corner. The hallway was empty, save for the myriad lockers lining the hall and a poster on one of the doors with an angry Uncle Sam pointing and saying, _'I want you… to turn off your phone'_.

Lance would've rolled his eyes at Uncle Sam (like he was gonna turn off his phone over a poster), but Allura was right there in front of him, still holding his hand.

"So," Lance declared, all confidence and snark. He tightened his grip on her hand. "We're alone now. What are we gonna do?"

Lance was thinking a romantic confession scene was in order, perhaps followed by a makeout session. It was Rachel's day with the car, but she didn't get out of soccer practice for another half-hour. They had plenty of time.

Allura shook his hand off and crossed her arms over her chest. There was a cute pin above her left hand that said 'GIRL POWER', and she started tapping it with her twitchy index finger. "Lance, I need to tell you something."

Ooh, this sounded good.

She continued, refusing to look up at him. "See, I know you've been flirting with me for a while now, and-"

"Yeah?" Lance prompted.

"Well, you're charming, and- er, witty, and you've got a wonderful sense of humor."

"Mmhm?"

"And, well-"

"Don't worry, Allura," Lance interrupted. She looked nervous, so he figured he'd finish the confession for her. "I know what you're gonna say, and you don't have to be scared. I'll totally go out with you."

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, Allura's gaze snapped up toward his own, her dark eyes looking watery, like she was in pain. A sinking feeling drove its way down Lance's spine, and he wondered for a moment whether he'd said the wrong thing. That wasn't possible, though, was it?

Was it?

Allura shook her head, eyes falling toward the linoleum flooring. She let out a long, pained sigh, and then said, "that's just it, Lance: I don't want to go out with you."

Lance froze. If his brain were a record-player, it would have gone over a scratch at that exact moment. "What?"

"I don't want to go out with you. I know you have a crush on me, and I'm very sorry, but I don't feel the same way."

Something wasn't computing. This wasn't possible. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "But- but I-"

"I'm sorry, Lance," Allura told him. Her eyes were full of pity for him. He was pathetic. How could he let this happen?

"Did I do something wrong?" he implored, nearly shouting. He hadn't meant to yell, and when Allura winced, he took a step backward and drew inward, forcing himself to speak more softly. "Is it because I'm such a nerd? I'll try to be better! You- you make me want to be better, Allura. You're perfect." He couldn't force himself to say any more, choking back an embarrassing sob.

No. No, no. He wasn't going to cry in front of Allura. That'd just make everything worse. He blinked back his tears, forcing himself to look back up at her.

"Lance, that's very- er, flattering, but I'm not perfect," she replied, and he could still see the pity oozing out of her demeanor. Lance shivered. He felt sick to his stomach. "I feel like you're idolizing me. You haven't done anything wrong—except maybe follow me around a little obsessively."

"I can stop doing that! I'll leave you alone! Would that make you like me better? Because I can-"

"Lance, please!" she cut him off. She even forced a smile on his behalf as she shuffled a bit closer to him. "You're just fine. It's just that- well, I just want to be friends. And I might have feelings for someone else."

"Oh." He guessed that she'd been trying to make him feel better, but the pit in his stomach just deepened, and he felt like someone had just punctured a hole in his lungs. He couldn't get enough air. Had it just gotten stuffier in here? "Uh, who is it?" he forced himself to ask, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Allura bit her lip. Her lipstick today was the same powder pink of her skirt. She was so pretty, even when she was letting Lance down. "I'd prefer not to tell anyone just yet. Are you alright, though? I'd love to be friends. I just don't want a relationship."

"I guess. I mean, yeah! Yeah, that's just fine! Don't even worry about it!"

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You seem a bit upset."

Lance shook his head, forcing a smile. "Upset? Pssh, nah, I'm just fine, see? I've, uh, I've gotta go now, but I'll see you tomorrow."

"Erm, alright," Allura replied, though she didn't quite seem convinced. "See you tomorrow, Lance!"

The minute she left, he ran to the bathroom to cry.

* * *

“You wiping off your bag, or did you just come in here to cry?”

Matt had always had a tendency to show up at the worst possible times, but this really took the cake.

Yes, fine, so Lance was crying. That didn't mean he wanted to tell the local high school bully about it—that was just pathetic, and Lance had already had a pretty pathetic day. However, he couldn't very well hide his tears when he was stooped over the sink, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, and hiding in the stall would be even lamer (Matt would probably call him a girl for peeing in the stalls, which wasn't much better than the crying thing).

He was left with one option: escape while he still could. “Wow, I just remembered," Lance said, trailing off as he tried to come up with something he could remember. "I don’t have to pee anymore!"

 _Nailed it,_ Lance thought to himself, rolling his eyes. _What a great excuse._

He tried to push past Matt, adding, "I’ll see you later, Matt, lemme just-”

“Nope!" Matt replied, shooting out an arm to block Lance's path. "You’re not getting off that easy." He shoved Lance away from the door, and it swung shut with a bang. Lance edged away from Matt toward the wall until he managed to ram into the paper towel dispenser. As he rubbed at the spot where his shoulder blade had hit the hard metal, Matt threw his head back and cackled like a mad scientist. "You scared, Lance?” he derided, prowling toward him like a wolf after its prey.

“No, I just-”

Matt cut him off, grinning maniacally. “Then why are you running away?"

“I dunno!" Lance puffed out his chest in an attempt to- what? Somehow prove to Matt that he wasn't such a loser after all? Yeah, right. "Why won’t you leave me alone?!” he demanded, voice shaking (he was still half-crying, after all).

At that, Matt's crazy grin pulled into a less-crazy (but infinitely more-terrifying) evil leer. “I have my instructions,” he said, sounding cool and mysterious like Sean Connery as 007.

They stayed like that for a while, Lance resting a hand on his bruised shoulder blade while Matt leveled him with a spine-chilling glare. Then, without warning, Matt doubled over, clutching his head in pain as he let out an ear-splitting scream of terror.

Lance jumped, his back hitting the paper towel dispenser _again_ and likely making his bruises even worse. Was Matt having a stroke? Should he call 911? Did he want to? He wasn't sure he wanted to. This was _Matt_ , after all.

However, before his moral dilemma gave way to an existential crisis, Matt stopped screaming. He shook his head, like he hadn't dealt with anything worse than a migraine just now, then stood up straight, hands falling to his sides.

“Well, uh, that’s- you should probably get that checked out," Lance said with a cringe, patting Matt on the shoulder as he tried to rush out the door again. "Now, if you’ll just let me get around you-”

“Wait!" Matt cried, grabbing Lance's forearm before he could leave. For the first time since Lance had met Matt, he looked like he wanted a serious conversation; eyes pleading and lips drawn into a concentrated pout. "You don’t remember me before, do you?”

Lance paused for a moment, then withdrew his hand from the door with a nod. “Veronica does. My sister?”

Matt snorted. “‘Course she does.”

“She said you used to be different, that you were- I dunno, nice and stuff?”

“Sounds like Ronnie,” Matt muttered under his breath, drawing a hand through his red bangs as he looked off into the distance. For a moment, it looked almost like he was an old man reminiscing the 'good old days, except that Matt was only eighteen, and he'd only been friends with Veronica about three years ago.

Lance's nose wrinkled. “Ronnie?” he echoed, because he'd never heard anyone use that name for Veronica. Veronica was far too serious and distinguished (in spite of her playful side) for such a nickname.

If Matt had heard what Lance had said, he ignored it. “She’s wrong, though," he told Lance, voice grave and pointed. "I was a loser, just like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw what went down out there," he said, sly grin returning. "Allura’s brushed you off how many times now?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Seventy-nine,” he grumbled, almost embarrassed that he'd kept track of it.

“And it took until now for you to realize she’s not into you.”

“Shut up!” Lance shouted, voice echoing off the tiled, grimy walls of the bathroom.

Matt sniffed at him as he walked over to the urinal. Oh, great. Now he was gonna make fun of Lance while he was peeing. That wasn't awkward at all. “So she finally rejected you for good?" he asked conversationally, and Lance heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. "And now you’re gonna cry in the bathroom like a prissy little nerd?”

“Hey, I'm not a nerd!" Lance exclaimed, trying to ignore whatever what Matt was doing as he trained his eyes steadfastly upon the mirror. His eyes were still bloodshot. He looked like a mess.

Still in front of the urinal, Matt looked over his shoulder at Lance, face deadpan.

“I’m not!" Lance continued, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I’m super cool! I’m like an awesome, ninja, cool dude!!”

Matt didn't reply—he just kept staring Lance down.

Finally, Lance conceded and slumped over in dejection. “Okay, fine, so I’m a nerd. I don’t wanna be a nerd, though!”

Finished with his business, Matt zipped up his pants and turned back toward him. “Well, I’ve got just the thing for you then.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, fingers visibly digging as far as they would go.

Matt shot him a shady, hooded gaze, and Lance was reminded of a drug dealer. He didn't know why (he'd never met a drug dealer before), but Matt kinda seemed like the type. “Before you ask," Lance said, raising his hands like a barrier between the two of them, "I signed the DARE ‘stay away from drugs’ contract in second grade, and I'm not gonna break it.”

“Damn, you’re even worse than I thought," Matt drawled, hands still in his pockets. "No worries, though—it’s not a drug. It’s called a Squip.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Like from Harry Potter?”

“No, a Squip.”

“How’s a squid supposed to help me get Allura?”

“Dude, are you deaf? Squip," Matt said the word slowly, popping the 'P' for emphasis.

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Well, duh." Matt rolled his eyes, letting out a short laugh. "This is some top-secret shit. Gotta go on the dark web to find it and everything. It’s a pill that’ll help you get your shit together.”

Lance tried to come up with a non-drug explanation for what Matt had just said, but his brain kept giving him a figurative error message—which was unfortunate, because there was no dinosaur game in his head. “So like…. Drugs?”

“Oh, it’s better than drugs, Lance," he murmured, smirking deviously. "It’s from Japan!”

Lance wasn't quite sure that made it better. “Okay, so it’s a Japanese drug?”

Something lit up in Matt's eyes, and Lance was reminded for a moment of Katie's excitement during robotics club (at least, when she wasn't berating Lance). “No, it’s a supercomputer!" he said. "It operates on a quantum level, surveying the entire outside world from inside your head, and it analyzes every possible-”

“Hey, hey!" Lance cut him off. "In English, please?”

“Sorry, I thought you spoke ‘geek’," Matt replied with a laugh, sidling up to Lance and sticking a casual arm over his shoulder. "Just imagine having a computer in your brain telling you what to do.”

Lance hummed to himself in thought, then glanced over at Matt (they were almost cheek-to-cheek). “So this is, like, some freaky-futuristic-dystopian sci-fi stuff?”

Matt scoffed. “More like _utopian_ sci-fi stuff.”

“Me-topian?” Lance asked, pointing to himself. What did that even mean? For a deadbeat punk, Matt sure knew a lot of words that Lance didn't. That wasn't exactly hard, though. Lance tended to screw up his words a lot, being bilingual and all.

“No, utop-" Matt cut off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Picture this: everyone in school thinks you’re hot shit, including the teachers. You don’t need to worry about being late, wearing the wrong clothes, or saying the wrong thing—the Squip’s got you covered. Everything’s sorted out for you. You can just relax.”

“I do like relaxing,” Lance mused, eyes narrowed in thought.

He felt Matt shake against him, like he was stifling a laugh. “Don’t we all?" he asked, drawing away to give Lance a pat on the back. "And look: the Squip can analyze everything, and I mean _everything._ I guarantee it’ll be able to tell you how to get Allura to fall for you.”

Lance's jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Yeah," Matt said with a nod, putting his hands in his pockets again. "I got mine from the guy at Payless, but I can hook you up next Monday for five-hundred bucks.”

“Five-hundred _what?”_ Lance retorted, scandalized.

“Trust me, it’s a worthy investment.”

“Trust you? You’ve been bullying me since I was a freshman!”

“Only because my Squip told me to!" Matt yelled, eyes wide. Without thinking, Lance stepped away from him, and Matt let out a sigh as he walked up to the bathroom door. "Just think about it, okay?" he added, more calmly. "You could really use one, dude.”

“I guess,” Lance said, but Matt was already gone, door swinging shut behind him.

He hadn't even washed his hands.

* * *

Pidge thrummed her fingers across the hood of Matt's VW Bug. What was taking him so long? All the school clubs had let out almost half an hour ago, and it wasn't like Matt had gone to any of those, anyway. Maybe he was making out with Jenny Shaybon? The one who liked to pretend that she was from France? No, they broke up. Maybe the other Jenny…. What was her last name again?

Before she could remember, though, Matt came sauntering out into the parking lot, smiling smugly as he approached the car.

"What took you so long?" Pidge asked, propping herself up on her hands. Yawning, she walked over to the passenger side of the car and rested her hand on the handle.

"Oh, nothing much," Matt replied with a shrug as he unlocked the car. "Just roughing up some loser from the robotics club."

Pidge gaped, glaring at Matt as she got in her seat. "Uh, who? You weren't-"

"Don't worry," he said as he got in beside her, not even bothering to buckle up before he turned on the car. "It's no one you know. Just some idiot named Lance. I've picked on him since he was a freshman."

Pidge's blood ran cold. Was this the same Lance who'd mistaken her for a boy? It had to be--it wasn't like there were any other Lances in the club. Suddenly, she felt bad for being so mean to him. If he got bullied on the regular (by her dumb brother, no less), he probably didn't need any more crap than he got already.

And it wasn't like he'd done anything terrible, per se. There were worse crimes than thinking Pidge was a boy when she was wearing Matt's old hand-me-downs, and every other guy in the school was looking to impress Allura. Even Keith wanted to impress Allura, and he was- well, he was Keith! She'd have to apologize to him. Maybe she should talk to Hunk about it--they seemed like good friends.

Either way, she couldn't keep letting Matt bully people like this. She had to find a way to get that Squip out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else ready for Lance to make poor life choices? I know I am.


	3. The Squip

Lance thought about Matt's offer all morning as he got ready for class, then continued to daydream about being worthy of Allura's affections as he sat through History, Precalculus, and Yearbook. As he slumped down into his seat in Chemistry, he realized he felt tired enough that he might actually fall asleep instead of fantasizing about drugs.

Unfortunately, Katie Holt didn't get the memo. Or at least, Lance's brain forgot the memo the second he saw Katie because  _ what in the name of crabapples was  _ she  _ doing here? _

Wasn't Katie too smart for normal-level chemistry? Maybe she was just visiting Mr. Iverson—he was a pretty popular teacher…. Except, she'd decided to walk toward the rows of desks instead of the front of the room, where Mr. Iverson was writing out compounds on the board.

"Katie?" he asked reluctantly. He still wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak to her outside of robotics club. "You're in this class? How did I not notice you yesterday?"

Katie snorted—it was an ugly, unfeminine sound, and it was way more charming than it had any right to be. "I'm not sure you noticed  _ anything _ , Lance. After all, you were sleeping through the entire class."

Lance blinked. "I mean-"

_ You're not wrong, _ was what Lance had wanted to say, but Katie shook her head before he could finish. "Wait, no, I'm sorry!" she said, suddenly looking terrified that she'd offended him (which was weird since she hadn't seemed to care much yesterday). "Sorry, that wasn't fair. I shouldn't make fun of you."

After calling him the 'worst robotics club member ever' yesterday, Lance didn't really think calling him out on sleeping through Chemistry was a big deal. If anything, it was funny. It wasn't like Katie was special; Lance joked about falling asleep in class himself as well. He shrugged. "You kidding? That was hilarious! If anything, I should apologize for being such a jerk yesterday… and for mistaking you for a boy."

Katie shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. I was wearing my brother's hand-me-downs anyway. Had I been dressed like I normally do, it wouldn't have been a problem."

For the first time since she'd entered the room, Lance took a look at what Katie was wearing. Unlike yesterday, she was wearing a green, short-sleeved shirt that was clearly designed for women (unless men's shirts with puffed sleeves were some new trend or something). She'd also swapped the too-long khakis for a cute pair of cargo shorts. Katie was right: if this was how she'd dressed yesterday, Lance probably wouldn't have mistaken her for a dude.

Still, she'd gotten her frumpy boy's polo shirts and khakis from her brother? "Those clothes used to be Matt's?"

"I know, right?" she exclaimed, laughing along with Lance as they both pictured punk-rocker Matt in Katie's getup.

The laughter continued to come in short, bubbly bursts for a few moments before it died down. Finally, Katie cleared her throat and said, "look, clearly neither of us made a very good first impression yesterday. Wanna start over?" She stuck out her hand, just like Lance had yesterday. This time, she didn't look nearly as angry or even a tenth as terrifying.

Lance reached up from his seat, giving Katie a smirk as he took her hand in his own and shook it. "Yeah, sure. I'm Lance. Though you, uh, probably already knew that."

"Heh, it's fine," she replied, and if Lance wasn't mistaken, her cheeks were just a touch pinker than they'd been before. "I'm Pidge. Mind if I sit here?" She pointed to the empty seat to Lance's left.

Lance pulled out the chair for her and patted it. "Be my guest. I could use a smart lab partner to mooch off of."

As Katie—or rather,  _ Pidge— _ sat down beside him, she let out a groan. "Oh my god. You have no shame, do you?"

Lance grinned at her, basking in her faux dread. "None at all."

On second thought, he wasn't so tired after all. He didn't need to sleep through chemistry when Pidge was right there to banter her way through it with him.

* * *

“Yeah, so then he said I only had to pay five-hundred dollars!” Lance proclaimed, gesturing wildly as he wrapped up his thrilling retelling of yesterday's bathroom encounter. He and Hunk were seated across from each other at the lunch table, and Lance was relieved that Romelle had had a meeting with the drama teacher—Hunk may have been giving Lance a variety of judgmental glares, but Romelle would've shot him down before he even finished his awesome story.

Hunk continued to glare at him, deadpan. When he finally sensed that Lance was fishing for a reply, he cocked one unimpressed brow and echoed back, “o _ nly _ five-hundred?”

Lance shrugged. “Well, it is a supercomputer.”

“Is it, though?" Hunk looked like he wanted to go on, but he cut off. He took a pensive sip from the mason jar of homemade lemonade he'd brought to school and slammed it back down on the rickety lunch table with a clatter. "Honestly, it sounds like he was pimping some shady drugs or something. And you know we both signed that DARE contract-”

“That’s what I said too!" Lance interrupted, biting loudly into his baby carrot to punctuate his words. "But Matt said it was better than drugs. Doesn’t that technically make it not a drug?”

He knew Hunk was only being reasonable, and Lance couldn't blame him for that, but…. Well, sometimes, Lance didn't  _ want _ to be reasonable. For so long, he'd been craving an easy solution to his problems. Finally, there was one dangling in front of him like a free sample at the grocery store (well, a five-hundred dollar free sample), and Hunk honestly expected him not to take a chance on it? Yeah, right.

Hunk shook his head, pulling a fresh piece of coconut bread out of his lunchbox and taking a bite out of it. “I don’t know, Lance," he said, still chewing. "I wasn’t there. And I’m not sure the type of technology he’s describing even exists.”

“It sounded legit, though,” Lance said, giving up on the rest of his lunch in favor of leaning back in his chair and throwing back his head to stare at the ceiling.

Lance wasn't looking at him, but Hunk's indignation was almost tangible. Still staring at the ceiling, Lance heard Hunk's mason jar hit the table again with a clang before he replied, “yeah, well, it doesn’t sound very legit to me.”

"Well, what do you think, then?" Lance asked, lowering his head to look at him.

Hunk groaned. His face pinched together, but he quickly shook it slack again. Finally, he took a deep breath, and said, “I think he’s scamming you! Super weirdly!”

Lance could tell Hunk was frustrated, so he made a placating 'cool off' gesture with his hands, then asked, “yeah, but what if he’s not? Look, Veronica knew Matt before he went crazy, and she made him sound like…. I mean, he sounded like a nice guy, but he also sounded like a total geek. Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

It was a fair point, but Hunk just crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you wanna become a jerk like him?”

“No!" Lance groaned, massaging his temples. What part of this wasn't Hunk getting? He  _ needed _ this to be cool. He wasn't good enough on his own, and he had sixteen years of evidence he'd been suppressing to back it up. He let out a sigh and added, more quietly, "I just wanna be good enough for Allura.”

Finally, Hunk seemed to sympathize, crumpling at Lance's words and giving him a light pat on the shoulder from across the table. “Look, Lance, I just don't know if what you're doing is healthy," he said, lips tugging into a moue. "I mean, I know as well as anyone that you're not a loser, Lance. You're smooth as heck (whenever you're not talking to Allura), you've got a great taste in movies, and you rock at  _ Tentlite _ . It's not a matter of being good enough for anyone. What you need is a new perspective. At least, I think that'd help. Maybe you just need to, I dunno, get more comfortable in your own skin or something. Let the wind be your guide, or however that phrase goes."

Hunk's eyes bored into Lance's own, full of sympathy he wasn't sure was warranted. As much as he wanted to, Lance wasn't quite sure he believed that he was good enough for anyone. He'd buried his insecurities well under layers of flirtation and swagger, but he wasn't nearly as confident as the persona he showed to the world. When Allura had turned him down, it had uprooted his well-placed mask and revealed Lance for what he was: a pathetic teenager who had spent years trying to convince himself that he wasn't as much of a geek as he'd thought he was.

Figuring that his bland lunch was less painful to look at than Hunk, Lance turned down toward his tray, fist clenching around his unopened carton of chocolate milk. "That's a nice thought and all, but I'm not sure if letting some stupid wind tell me what to do is gonna help me with Allura."

"Maybe you don't need to impress Allura!" Hunk shot back. The sympathy was gone now, replaced by a flare of frustration that made Lance shrink before him. "There's, like, four billion girls in the world. I'm sure there's more than one you'd be willing to go out with, if you'd just give them a shot."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Like who?"

It was Hunk's turn to flinch, stammering, "like, uhh…. Like Plaxum, from English last year!"

The vague image of Plaxum flashed in his mind for a moment, her long black hair and dark, shimmery eyes. She would often wear too much eye-shadow and babble on when Lance wasn't listening.

He shrugged. "Not my type."

Hunk paused for a moment, then asked, "okay, how 'bout Shay then? She's single."

"I dunno, didn't you two used to go out? That'd be awkward."

"Fine, fine…." Puzzled, Hunk took a contemplative bite out of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. After a solid minute of silence, he spoke up again. "Alright, don't judge me for this, but what about Pidge?"

Lance choked on his spit. "Seriously?" he coughed. "We weren't even on speaking terms until, like, an hour ago."

How had Hunk even found out that they made up? It wasn't like Lance had told him, and he wasn't particularly close to Pidge… was he?

"But you are now!" Hunk replied, pointing a finger at him like he'd just won the debate.

"Yeah, yeah," Lance said, rolling his eyes as he tried not to think about kissing a tiny girl with short brown hair and amber eyes. "I don't know, I barely know her. I really just want Allura. Look, Hunk, I think that pill thingy could work, y'know?"

Hunk deadpanned. "I don't, actually."

"I just- I've got this feeling," Lance told him, placing a hand on his chest.

"In your heart, or in your mind? Or both?"

"In my- what? Neither." Lance shook his head, trying to find a good way describe his intuition. "More like my gut. And you know what you say about gut feelings!"

"I said that about eating healthy food!" Hunk retorted, incredulous. "I told you that vegetables that are high in fiber improve digestion! Then you looked me in the eye and shoved an entire strip of bacon in your mouth!"

Oh, that was what he had gone on about? No wonder Hunk had been so upset with him after taking his fourth piece of bacon. "I don't think I was listening, then. It doesn't matter though! I know it's going to work."

And he did. He wasn't sure why, but Lance had never been more certain of anything in his life. He may have been a loser, but this pill was the solution to his problems. It could make him cool, he just knew it.

Hunk seemed less convinced. "If you say so," he drawled, stifling a cringe.

Lance opted to ignore Hunk's lack of support. Instead, he stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulders and said, "sweet, so you'll go with me to the mall tonight? Matt says there's a guy at Payless; I was thinking we could hit him up."

There was a second when Lance thought Hunk would turn down his offer. The sheer skepticism on his face was worse than Lance had ever seen before (and Hunk definitely had his share of skeptical moments).

Then, Hunk's shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh. "Okay, fine," he replied, putting his empty mason jar and Tupperware back in his lunchbox. "For the record, though, this is a bad idea."

Lance called bullcrap, but he didn't say so out loud. He'd show Hunk how great this plan was, once he was cool. It wasn't like Lance wasn't trying to help  _ Hunk _ as well, either. Hunk was the best friend in the world. He helped Lance whenever he could, he willingly let Lance kick his butt at  _ Tentlite _ , and he'd worn the coolest headband around his forehead ever since his Naruto phase back in fifth grade.

Maybe, for once, Lance could be an awesome best friend too.

* * *

Some people were cursed with obnoxious voices. Others were cursed with voices so obnoxious and nasal that they were hard to ignore.

Then there was Nyma.

Not that it looked like a curse from the outside: Nyma was the hottest, most popular girl at Montgomery High. But in all honesty, Hunk wasn't quite sure how people got around that voice.

Even now, walking toward Payless at the mall, he heard her coming from fifty yards away without even looking for her.

He didn't really care what she was talking about (beyond the usual gossip-mongering; he liked gossip-mongering), but he caught every word regardless. That's just how annoying Nyma's voice was.

"So then  _ apparently," _ Nyma griped as she brushed past him and Lance, "Jenny Shaybon was, like, 'I'll only have sex with you if you beat me at pool,' then she  _ lost _ at pool, deliberately!!"

Gross.  _ Not  _ something he needed to know. Hunk didn't care about Jenny Shaybon's sex life, and he definitely didn't want to hear about it second-hand from Nyma.

"That's so awesome," replied the girl at her side, with shiny, black hair and glittery blue eyeshadow-  _ Plaxum! _ From English last year! Hunk had no idea they even hung out together. Huh.

Though he and Lance were trailing behind the pair, Hunk could still sense the waves of fury emitting from Nyma. "Excuse me?!"

"Uhh, I mean, slutty!" Plaxum corrected herself, shrinking at her side. "What a thot."

Hunk stifled a snort. A  _ thot? _ Really? Whatever.

"Seriously!" Nyma shrieked in agreement. "So then Beezer was all like-"

"Hey, babe!" interrupted a man with white-blond hair and a wardrobe right out of a catalogue of- well, wherever Keith bought his clothes. Leather jackets, ripped jeans; the bad boy look.

Nyma immediately purred at him, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek before she said, "Rolo! How's it going, sweetie?"

"Oh, just checking in," Rolo murmured, as he literally sweeped Nyma off her feet and into a dip kiss. "My shift starts in, like, ten minutes," he tacked on after he pulled away.

"The one at Pizza Palace?" Nyma asked, still dipped down in her apparent boyfriend's arms.

Who was Rolo, anyway? He definitely didn't go to Montgomery High, and he didn't seem like the homeschooling type, either. Maybe he was a college kid?

Rolo shook his head. "No, the one at Payless."

Hunk would've kept eavesdropping, but something seemed to catch Lance's attention. He tugged at Hunk's shirt and stage-whispered, "Hunk! Hunk! He just said he works at Payless!"

Lance was pointing right at Rolo, and Hunk replayed the conversation in his mind. Yep. He'd said Payless. Great.

Hunk nodded once. "You think it's him?" 

Lance shrugged. "Worth a shot. Come on!" And suddenly, Hunk felt himself being tugged by the sleeve of his Star Wars shirt toward Payless Shoes, wondering all the while why he'd let Lance talk him into this.

Though Hunk had wanted to wait outside, Lance was relentless, continuing to pull him until Hunk was next to Lance at the front counter. Rolo, from the looks of it, had just clocked in; he was still adjusting his name tag on his black tee-shirt that definitely wasn't in the dress code (unless Payless let their workers rip the sleeves off their shirts). When he finally noticed the two boys in front of him, Rolo raised an eyebrow at them wordlessly.

"Uh, nice sideburns," Lance said, motioning along the side of his own face to mimic the blond thatches of hair running in front of Rolo's ears. "Makes you look like Wolverine, y'know?"

Hunk didn't see it, himself, but it was a nice sentiment.

Rolo rolled his eyes, sticking out his hand, palm facing upward. "Alright, let's see the money."

Oh, this guy was triggering Hunk's sketchy-guy radar big time.

"The money?" Hunk repeated, placing a thoughtless hand on Lance's shoulder as he leaned in toward Rolo.

"The money for the-" Abruptly, Rolo cut himself off, looking around as if there were other people who could be spying on them (there weren't; the store was empty). Then, voice lowered to a whisper, he finished, "for the pill."

Hunk's sketchy-guy senses were still tingling, but Lance pushed him to the side, mumbling, "stop intimidating the Squip-dealer," under his breath before offering Rolo a winning smile. "Wow, you must be psychic. How did you know that was what I wanted?"

Rolo was unfazed. "Look at yourself. You need it. That'll be four-hundred big ones."

"Four- uh,  _ four-hundred?" _ Lance echoed back, surprised.

Hunk wasn't sure what the big deal was. Lance had known it would be a lot of money.

"Is that a problem?" Rolo asked, arms crossed.

Lance plastered his awkward, fake smile right back onto his face. "Uh, no! No, of course not! Alright, four-hundred…." He thumbed through his wallet, pulling out a large wad of cash that he must've been saving up for a while. Again, that was weird. Lance never saved money. He liked skin care products and video games too much for that.

The second Lance held out the cash, Rolo snatched it eagerly and counted every bill. Finally satisfied, he ducked down under the counter and retrieved a gray, oblong pill about the shape and size of a breath mint. "Just so we're clear," he said as he placed the pill onto the palm of Lance's hand, "this is untested technology, and it's not exactly legal, which is why you're paying for it with cash in the back of a shoe store. I take no responsibility for what you might do with it. Or what it might do to you."

Lance spluttered. "What it might do to- what?"

Rolo ignored him, carrying on with his clearly-recited run-down. "To activate it, you gotta take it with Mountain Dew. Don't know why. Just something about Mountain Dew. And, this is important-"

"Rolo, baby!" exclaimed a loud, grating voice from the entryway.

That was enough to distract Rolo, who turned to look toward his girlfriend. "Nyma! How's it going, doll?"

Lance growled, slamming a hand on the table to get Rolo's attention again. "Rolo!" he grunted through gritted teeth. "What was important?"

"Oh yeah," Rolo said, tone much cooler and more casual than before. "All purchases are final. No money back. Now scram, loser."

And that, at least, Hunk and Rolo could agree on: the sooner he and Lance left, the better.

* * *

Lance had been positive of his gut feelings right up until he sat down at the only empty table in the food court. He set his newly-purchased bottle of vending machine Mountain Dew in front of him. Sighing, he took the Squip out of his pocket. Rolling the small pill between his thumb and his index finger, he tried to convince himself that this had been a worthwhile purchase.

So this was what it was like to hold his own fate in his hands? It was oddly anticlimactic. Maybe Lance had done something wrong? "Welp," he muttered as he sneered down at the little pill, "I sure hope you’re worth four hundred dollars."

"Four hundred and one, counting the Mountain Dew," Hunk added helpfully as he sat down next to Lance, patting the table next to the bottle, making the neon-green soda ripple inside. If Lance was being honest, he wasn't a huge fan of Mountain Dew. It looked like some sort of chemical right out of a sci-fi movie, and Lance was fidgety enough without the added caffeine.

That wasn't important, though. If he was going to be cool, he could deal with a case of the jitters. "If this is real," he said, more stern than he could ever remember being, "my whole life could change." He paused, letting that sink in for a minute.

He glanced at Hunk, who offered him a half-hearted smile that quickly contorted into a grimace. Lance knew that Hunk was skeptical. He had every right to be, but the weak support was appreciated anyhow.

In fact, Hunk had just followed him through this whole ordeal. He'd willingly let Lance drag him to the mall, purchase a shady drug (or not-drugs, whatever), and now he was going to watch Lance take the drug in a crowded mall food court. Heck, counting all the events leading up to this, Hunk had watched Lance stumble around Allura for two years, after she'd moved to New Jersey from Aquafina (or wherever it was she came from). Lance felt a bit guilty, taking the awesome-pill when Hunk was just sitting beside him, strung along for the entirety of their friendship.

Lance set the pill on the table and nodded toward Hunk. "We should split it. You helped me get it. We should both get something out of it, right?"

For the first time since lunch, Hunk cracked a genuine smile. "I don’t eat things that are illegal. Y'know, because I signed the DARE contract," he replied pointedly, but there was mirth in his eyes and Lance could tell he wasn't being serious. "Besides, you paid for it."

Well, technically, it was Veronica's money, but Lance wasn't sure he wanted to tell Hunk that. There was only one thing left to do. "Alright then. Here we go, I guess." With that, before he could reconsider, Lance popped the pill into his mouth, then cracked open the bottle of Mountain Dew and choked down the concoction with a wince.

"How does it taste?" Hunk asked, dubious.

Lance coughed, the carbonation tickling his throat. "Minty."

"How do you feel?"

"Like…." Lance trailed off, setting down the bottle and scanning his brain for any changes.

Nothing. He shook his head, then finished, "like a loser."

As suspicious as Hunk had seemed earlier, Lance's words seemed to surprise him. His eyes went wide and his voice jumped half an octave as he retorted, "nothing at all? Try to say something cool."

"I think I just blew Veronica's paycheck on a wintergreen tic-tac."

Hunk hummed in thought, then shrugged and said, "yeah, that doesn't sound very cool to me. Here, how 'bout this: I'll be back in five minutes, and if you're still not cool, maybe some smoothies on me from the Shake Shack? With fries on the side to dip, the way you like it? Eh?" He nudged Lance's side before standing up, the chair scraping on the tile as Hunk's strong legs pushed it backward behind him.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"Well, since you asked," he replied, barely stifling a grin, "there's this guy I know from my auto shop class that works at Spencer’s Gifts. We kinda set up this system where I get old-school soft drinks from him every couple months if I pay for shipping and, well, anyway…. He texted me just this afternoon and said he managed to snag a case of Ecto Cooler? Like, that Ghostbusters drink from the eighties? I'm so excited to try it! Imagine drinking pure eighties nostalgia."

"Oh, that's cool, I guess," Lance replied. He didn't really care about old-timey sodas; but at least this Ecto Cooler business meant that he hadn't dragged Hunk to the mall for nothing. "What does it taste like?"

Hunk shrugged. "I dunno, ghosts?"

"Seems legit." Lance nodded at him, taking another sip of Mountain Dew. "I'll just… sit here and drink the rest of my soda, then."

And, though Hunk looked like he wanted to console Lance further, he just nodded back and walked off, leaving Lance to- well, sit there and drink the rest of his soda.

That is, until he heard a gorgeous voice in a telltale rich-people accent. "Don't you think we should wait for Shiro?"

Lance jerked his head toward the sound: it was Allura. And Keith.

Keith?

No. No, no, no. Allura was not on a date with Keith. Right?

Nah. If Allura didn't like Lance, there was no way she liked Keith. Keith was worse than he was (which was saying something, because Lance hadn't been feeling so great about himself lately).

"Oh, he uh- well, he couldn't make it," Keith stuttered out, smooth as ever. What a loser. Keith was so dumb. "I hope that's okay? I figured we could get to know each other. Uh, alone and stuff."

A flash of anger seared down Lance's spine. Keith was trying to force Allura to go on a date with him! Ooh, he sneaky... but not sneaky enough for Lance! Scheming on the fly, Lance shot to his feet, abandoning his half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew as he sauntered across the food court toward the damsel in distress.

Allura had already made it clear that she was in love with someone else. Lance was determined to save her from an awkward date with Keith! Maybe he could join them. He didn't want to hang out with Keith, but Allura's well-being almost made it worth it.

Casual as he could manage, Lance strode up to the two of them. Keith was hunched inward, still stuttering on while Allura occasionally nodded in agreement.

"So, yeah, uh-" Keith cut off, clearing his throat. "Anyway, I was thinking we could-"

"Allura!" Lance interrupted.

"Lance!" Allura replied, eyes wide with surprise. "I didn't notice you."

Keith scowled. "Yeah, me neither. Anyway, let's-”

"Wait!" Lance cut in, before Keith could finish. "Allura, there’s something I need to ask you."

"Oh, this'll be good," Keith muttered under his breath.

Allura's smile slipped into a disapproving frown. "Lance…."

In spite of her judgmental glare, Lance felt a shiver work its way down his spine. He really loved the way Allura said his name. Allura was so cool. "Well, I've been thinking that we could- aughhhh!!"

Lance cut himself off with a moan of pain. It felt like his head had lit itself on fire. He wove his fingers into his hair, clutching his scalp as he continued to cry out. Suddenly, a voice emerged from the center of his brain, deep inside his skull.

_ Target female: inaccessible. _

He jolted; half from surprise and half from the continued searing pain in his head. Lance glanced around for the source of the voice, but to no avail. It seemed to have no source, and it sounded robotic; like someone had implanted a mind-reading Echo Dot in his mindspace. Lance was tempted to ask it to play "Despacito", but that probably would've just exacerbated the headache.

Any displeasure in Allura's voice was replaced with concern as she said, "Lance?" stepping toward him to place a hand on his back.

Lance's head started throbbing. He let out another scream as the voice in his head spoke up again.

_ Calibration in process. Please excuse some mild discomfort. _

"Mild?!" Lance yelped, doubling over with another flash of pain that anything but mild.

"Lance," Allura said again, leaning over him as he sunk to the ground. "Are you alright?"

Keith's voice spoke up from behind her; surprisingly concerned, given that it was Keith. "I think he's in shock. Allura, do you know Rachel's phone number?"

"No, but I know Veronica's," Allura replied, and had Lance not been writhing in pain, he would've asked how Allura knew his sister, who was at college. As it was, he lay on the ground with head in his hands, blinking back tears.

_ Calibration complete. Access procedure initiated. _

And just like that, the pain was gone. Lance shook his head, and subtly wiped a tear or two from his eyes as he exclaimed, "no, wait! I’m fine, I just-"

_ Discomfort level may increase. _

True to voice's words, the pain returned with fervor, and Lance fell back to ground in agony.

He realized distantly that he was making a scene.He forced himself to his feet and staggered out of the food court and away from Allura to lie down on an empty bench in the concourse.

_ Accessing: neural memory. Accessing: muscle memory. Access procedure: complete. _

As the pain finally subsided, Lance opened his eyes to see a young man walking toward him. He looked like he was in his twenties, with dark hair and well-defined eyebrows furrowed into a look somewhere between disdain and confusion. "Lance Alvarez," he said, sticking out his hand for Lance to shake.

As Lance took the man's outstretched hand in his own, jaw hanging, The man smirked down at him. His eyes were naturally narrow, giving him a mischievous demeanor. As he withdrew his hand, his nose twitched in what looked like disdain. Lance got a sudden, uncomfortable feeling that this man was staring right through his body and into his soul, picking apart each insecurity one by one.

He sat beside Lance on the bench and placed a nonchalant arm over Lance's shoulders. “Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor….”

As the man trailed off, his dark eyes were buried in a flash of azure light. Suddenly, every bit of his eyes, from the center of his pupils to the edge of his whites, swam in a shocking, electric blue.

Just as soon as it came, the blue light faded and the man's eyes returned to a more natural brown. He narrowed his already-narrow eyes at Lance; the perfect picture of contempt.

Finally, still leering, he said, “I'm your SQUIP.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to AlwaysInSonder for the beta (sorry I forgot to mention you last chapter)!!


	4. Be More Chill

"You look like Keanu Reeves," was all Lance said as the Squip introduced himself, still smirking like- well, like a twenty-year-old Keanu Reeves, but smirking.

"My default mode," the Squip replied, "though my readings indicate that may also enjoy: Sean Connery as James Bond. Chris Pratt as Star-Lord. Carrie Fisher as Sexy Princess Leia." As he named the celebrities, he morphed into each one right in front of Lance, landing on Princess Leia in her revealing bikini from  _ Return of the Jedi. _

Lance looked around the crowded mall, but no one else seemed bothered by Carrie Fisher's half-naked doppelganger but himself. He turned back to Leia, trying to force himself to look at her face, rather than literally any other part of her body. Leia had been a childhood crush of his; this was so embarrassing. "Keanu's okay," he muttered, face heating up. Was he sweating? His hands were clammy.

"Are you sure?" Leia- or rather,  _ the Squip _ asked, voice low and sultry as every geek's fantasy. "My heart-rate sensors say that you are most likely to pay attention to me in this form."

Lance shook his head frantically, trying in vain to say something that made sense. "Nonono, it's cool! Uh, fine! Please, just- Keanu. Keanu's good."

"Fair enough." The Squip shrugged, shifting back to Keanu Reeves, and Lance let out a sigh. He really needed to get a handle on his Carrie Fisher celebrity crush. She wasn't even  _ alive _ anymore, and he was still obsessed.

Still, no one else in the mall seemed to notice the shape-shifting celebrity sitting next to Lance. "So, can anyone else see you?"

"I exist only in your mind," the Squip explained, tapping his temple. He was speaking slowly and thoughtfully, and Lance couldn't quite tell whether the Squip was being condescending, or whether it was slow by nature. "All they see is you, having an animated conversation, with yourself. So don’t do that. Just think at me, like you’re telepathic."

"Like in X-men?"

The Squip sighed. "I can see this is going to be difficult."

Yeah, that settled it. It was definitely talking down to Lance.

"You want to be more chill," the Squip said, lip drawn into a sneer.

_ You mean cool? _

"I do not." The Squip stood up, motioning for Lance to do the same, and began to lead him down the concourse of the mall. "You see, human social activity is governed by rules and I have the processing capacity to understand those rules."

Lance nodded. He wasn't quite sure he understood, but the Squip seemed to know what he was talking about.

Meanwhile, the Squip placed a hand on Lance's upper-back, and remarked, "let's start with your posture. Take your hands out of your pockets. Arch your back, and puff out your chest."

Mid-stride, Lance pushed his chest out, feeling unbalanced and vulnerable. "Like this?" he asked, wondering briefly if anyone would notice his nonexistent abs.

"You're still walking awkwardly," the Squip noted, unimpressed. "Add some swagger. Act more confident. People are going to think you spend all your free time playing video games."

_ But I do play video gam- _

The Squip interrupted, waving a dismissive hand in Lance's face. "We'll fix that. Next, your social skills: while you carry yourself like a nerd, you talk like you're one of the popular kids. I assure you, you're not. You stutter and stammer worse than most cases I'm programmed to correct."

Lance felt a hot flush of embarrassment work its way across his face and down his body.

_ I, uh- _

"Quit fidgeting. Everyone looking at you can see you twiddling your thumbs at nothing. They're going to think you're weird, and they'll be right."

_ Got it.  _ Desperate for something to do with his hands, he moved to clear his throat, but that made his chest cave inward. Cursing inwardly, he retracted his hand so he could maintain his stance. He cast a quick gaze across the concourse--sure enough, everyone around him really did seem to be staring at him. Self-conscious, Lance clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides to keep from fidgeting any further.

There was a brief reprieve after that, but just as Lance started to think he'd gotten something right, the Squip spoke up again. "Oh, and those pick-up lines you've been stowing away? They suck."

"What?!"

The Squip shushed him, placing a finger in front of Lance's mouth. "You said that out loud. Now everyone's staring at you." He motioned outward, and this time, as Lance looked, even more people than before were leering at him like he was some sort of parasite. How hadn't noticed that before? He really was repulsive.

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this," the Squip continued, "but I just finished my comprehensive scan, and almost everything about you is terrible, Lance. I'm surprised you haven't realized what a waste of space you are to those around you."

_ Are you serious? _

The Squip nodded, almost chillingly eager. "Deadly. If my calculations are correct, there is no one on this planet whose life has benefited from your presence."

_ Holy yikes. _

"Don't freak out," The Squip prodded, his slender fingers cool like melting ice and hair-raising electric as they came to rest on the back of Lance's neck. "I can feel your blood pressure rising. You need to chill out."

Lance scoffed. "Well, you just told me that-!"

The Squip shushed him once more, finger just grazing Lance's bottom lip. Again, he felt the same uncomfortable cold electricity emanating from the Squip's fingertips. "You're speaking out loud again," he chided, voice low and casual as ever.

Then, his eyes flashed blue and, for a split second, Lance's lips burned like Zeus himself had decided to kiss him with a high-voltage thunderbolt. The lightning traveled all around his head before shooting down his back, burning with searing pain all the while. Even his tailbone was alight, and Lance's back arched of its own volition.

"Ouch!" he yelped, hands flying to his lips. The shock had only lasted a second, but he could still feel the aftershocks simmering through his veins. His hair was standing on end. "What the heck was that?"

The Squip, who must have withdrawn his hand at some point, tapped his own temple and said, "spinal stimulation. You were slouching."

_ Of course I was, _ Lance mused, more to himself than to the Squip. His mother had been telling him to sit up straighter for years, and now he'd gotten a supercomputer just to get the same stupid advice. Classic.

The Squip had already moved on though, cruising ahead and veering off until he was in the entryway of a discount clothing store. "How 'bout we get you a new shirt?" he asked.

_ But I don't need a new shir- _

"Don't question my logic," he interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You'll find that a more desirable outcome will result if you comply with my demands."

"Fine," Lance muttered, sure to keep his voice low enough that no one else would hear him. He made his way into the shop, peering over rows of shirts with the half-hearted energy of a little kid in the vegetable aisle.

After a few minutes, the Squip motioned over to a table full of graphic tees--the sort that Hunk liked to wear. It seemed like the furthest thing from cool, but the Squip seemed insistent. "Pick that one," he demanded, pointing at a white tee with the large, printed face of....

Wait, what? "That's a Kanye West shirt," Lance stage-whispered (there wasn't anyone around, anyway, but just in case someone could hear him).

The Squip shifted his weight, leaning on the table and crossing his arms over his chest as he leveled Lance with a dark-eyed smirk. "If you’re so astute, what do you need me for?"

"Isn't Kanye West, I dunno, racist or something?

"Irrelevant," the Squip replied, patting the shirt as if he expected Lance to sit on it or something. "My quantum structure enables me to envision possible futures. I envision a future in which you wear this Kanye West shirt and things turn out well."

"What if someone quizzes me about his music?"

"My database is infinite and instantaneous."

Lance shrugged to himself. That was good enough for him. He took the shirt off the table, checked to make sure it was a small (sparing only a moment to dwell on the fact that he was 5'11" and still a wimpy size S), and continued browsing.

It was a minute or two before the weight of the Squip's statement caught up to him and he realized, "heyyy, how are you with math homework?"

The Squip snorted, ever-derisive. "I’m a super-computer, Lance. I’m made of math!"

Lance was content to leave that statement without further discussion, but the Squip continued. "The fact that you were too moronic to realize that despite enrolling in a robotics club is… troubling, to say the least," he said, following Lance across the next row. "Are you sure you even want to try to receive my help? You would need to change almost everything about yourself. Look at everyone around you, giving you those judgmental looks."

Lance's stomach dropped. The Squip was right. Though the store had seemed pretty empty before, it suddenly seemed to be teeming with people, all of whom were leering at him like a lion might consider a wounded gazelle. Suddenly, Lance was nothing but a lame animal on the bottom of the food chain, ripe for the picking and endlessly inferior.

"You're right," he muttered softly, blinking back the sudden burning around his eyes. "What's wrong with me?"

"You look like a slob."

_ I spend three hours a day on my hygiene routine! _

"Better up it to four. You look awful."

Lance couldn't argue with that. His hair was still limp and oily, and his skincare routine was still far from perfection. He'd doubled down on deodorant and cologne this morning, but he still felt like the scent of sweat was radiating from him like a disgusting perfume in its own right.

Lance was disgusting. No wonder Allura hated him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jab in the ribs--the Squip had just nudged him. "Now you try picking a shirt."

Lance's eyes fell upon a light blue button-down on the rack across from him. Blue was his favorite color, and it would probably go perfectly with his dark wash jeans-

"That’s a girl’s shirt." The Squip seemed to be stifling a dark laugh.

Lance gazed down at the shirt hanging from his hand. Sure enough, its curvature was definitively feminine, and Lance felt his face flush.

And, of course, that was when a nasal voice came from behind him "Larry?"

Lance turned on his heels to see Nyma, blonde hair tied into a blonde ponytail at the crown of her head. She was sneering, but she did that a lot, so he figured that was normal.

Lance, for one, couldn't believe she'd just called him that. "Uh, the name's Lance?" he retorted, face pulled into an unamused deadpan.

The Squip, who'd been giving the boob window on Nyma's shirt an appreciative leer, turned to look at Lance in disdain. "How would she know that?" he asked with a laugh. "Nyma is the most popular girl in school, and you're just a nobody."

He was right--Lance was a nobody. He shrunk back at that, but the Squip shocked him again to make him stand up straight.

"You shop here?" Nyma asked, pulling Lance away from his side conversation.

"Oh!" he blurted, face going red. "Uh, yeah, I shop here every-"

"Never," the Squip interrupted.

Lance nodded. "Never! Every never. Y'know, because I never go here?" He looked up at the Squip, who'd situated himself behind Nyma, but he only rolled his eyes at him.

"Greet the beta," he said, pointing to Plaxum next to her.

Lance hadn't even noticed her.

"Hey, Plaxum-"

"You know her name isn't actually Plaxum, right?" the Squip asked. "It's Plaksha. Hindi name. Y'know, because her family's from India?"

Lance didn't know that, and now he felt stupider than ever. He'd called her that all of tenth grade, and she'd never bothered to correct him? What kind of dumb name was Plaxum, anyway?

He started over. "Hey, Plaksha-"

The Squip cut him off again. "Don't! If you use that pick-up line, you'll only make both of them think you're a loser."

_ Well, what do I say, then? _ he asked, sure not to speak aloud this time. He didn't need some of the most popular girls in school thinking he was crazy.

The Squip, still behind the girls, rested his head on Plaksha's shoulder. The side of his face brushed against hers and he gave her a brief peck on the apple of her cheek before he murmured, “say, 'you look sexy.'”

Lance coughed into his hand to keep from shouting,  _ I can’t say that to a hot girl! _

But the Squip didn't back down. Instead, he walked over to rest his hands on Lance's shoulders. "Don’t smile. Stare intensely," he commanded, waiting for Lance to contort his face into a neutral stare before he went on. "Speak like you don’t care about your own death."

"Lookin’ pretty sexy, Plaksha," Lance growled, feeling ridiculous. He wanted to wink, just to let the world know he wasn't as serious as Keith.

"Don't wink," the Squip muttered, literally reading his mind. "You'll ruin it."

Lance wasn't a huge fan of the idea, but Plaxum- or rather,  _ Plaksha _ seemed to appreciate it, cheeks flushing pink as she whispered back a quiet, "thanks."

Nyma was less impressed. "Is that a girl’s shirt?" She was pointing at the shirt in Lance's hand with perfectly-manicured fingers. Her nail polish was distractingly gold.

Lance shook his head. "No."

"Yes!" the Squip retorted.

"I mean, yes?" Lance corrected himself. Where was the Squip going with this?

When he turned to the Squip, he was giving Lance a devious grin. "Repeat after me," he demanded, before whispering the most beautifully-fabricated excuse into his ear.

It was perfect. Lance's face broke into his most convincing look of despair, and he thanked Rachel for forcing him to take acting classes with her back in middle school.

"Well, I saw it in the window out there," Lance said to Nyma, grateful there was a mannequin in a similar shirt on display (how hadn't he noticed that before?), "and I just had to come in. See, there's this girl I used to date who had a shirt just like this." He looked down at the ground, stifling the urge to blink until he felt his eyes start to brim with tears. "It's still painful to, well…." He trailed off, looking off into the distance as he wiped the fake tears off his face.

Nyma crossed her arms over her chest, still sneering (maybe she had a lip condition). "And who was this mystery girl?"

"Uh, you’ve probably never met her-"

"Jenny Shaybon," the Squip suggested, smiling coolly.

Lance stared at the ground, gaze dark and mysterious as- well, Keith, hopefully. "It was Jenny Shaybon."

Both girls gasped, affronted. "What?!"

"She's French," Lance added, voice wobbling with fake emotion.

"She is not French!" Nyma screeched, like that was the most offensive lie she'd been told in her entire life. "She just pretends to be for attention!"

Plaksha placed a hand on Nyma's arm to silence her, then asked, "Jenny broke up with you?" She looked almost as broken up about it as Lance was pretending to be.

Lance was about to nod 'yes', but the Squip snapped his fingers at him. "No. She was cheating on you, so you decided to break up with her."

That was even sadder. Lance shook his head. "No!" he cried. "I broke up with her, 'cos she was cheating on me!!"

His voice echoed across the shop. The Squip snorted at him. "Hey, Romeo? Chill out."

Lance's face heated up. Luckily, he was supposed to be emotional right now, so he hid it as an angry flush, nostrils flaring as his brow furrowed.

Nyma let out an affronted huff, which was as close as Lance had seen to sympathy from her. She turned to Plaksha, nose wrinkled in disgust, and exclaimed, "what did I tell you? She is such a thot!"

Plaksha nodded, her red, glossy lips tugging into a pout. "Don't worry, Lance," she told him, grabbing his hand with her own and stroking her smooth fingers across the back of it. "You are so much better off without her."

"Obviously!" Nyma sneered. "I mean, who does Jenny think she is?"

She continued, ranting on and on about how awful Jenny was and wondering aloud how she would dare cheat on someone like Lance.

Lance, confused, turned to the Squip and raised an eyebrow.  _ What just happened? _

The Squip shrugged. "A shared negative opinion is the fastest social bond."

_ What's that supposed to mean? _

"It means," the Squip answered, stretching his muscular Keanu Reeves arms over his handsome Keanu Reeves head, "that if you want someone to like you? You gotta hate who they hate."

Lance wanted to reply, but Nyma had finally finished her diatribe. She tossed her platinum hair over one shoulder and swiveled on her feet, saying, "ugh, let’s get out of here."

Just as Lance was about to say his goodbyes, the Squip nudged him. "Plaksha is going to offer you a ride. It is imperative you accept."

_ What makes you say that? _

"So, do you wanna ride?" Plaksha asked, and Lance decided he was done questioning the Squip's predictive powers.

"Yes," the Squip replied, gesturing to Lance.

"Yes!" he repeated dumbly, before remembering Hunk still sitting in the food court, likely waiting for him. "But, uh, I was gonna go home with my friend, Hunk."

Plaksha's face fell. "Oh…"

The Squip rolled his eyes, jabbing him in the side with his elbow again. "Lance, if this is going to work, you need to do as I say. Take the ride."

"Are you sure?" Plaksha prompted, giving Lance a perfect opportunity to change his mind if he so chose (Lance wondered distantly if the Squip wasn't controlling her mind as well). "Nyma and I were gonna stop for frozen yogurt, then we could get you right on home."

Oooh, Lance did like frozen yogurt. And he couldn't say no to two hot girls.

"Exactly!" the Squip agreed. "Which is why you've gotta take the ride!"

Again, Lance's mind flashed with the image of Hunk looking around the mall for him. Sure, the idea getting fro-yo with two very attractive girls was alluring, but he couldn't just leave his friend behind. "Next time," Lance decided. "I promise."

"Whatever," Nyma droned, already walking away.

Plaksha hesitated, taking Lance's hand in her own again. "My boyfriend cheated on me too," she said, staring at Lance's hand. "Well, my ex-boyfriend. So…." Finally, she looked up at Lance, deep brown eyes shining with sympathy and righteous anger on Lance's behalf. "I know how you feel."

Nyma cleared her throat. "Plaksha. Come on."

"Got it!" she cried, dropping Lance's hand, but then her hand shot up to stroke his cheek. "I'll see you later," she murmured, voice low and demure.

Then, for the first time in Lance's life, Plaksha--a girl who wasn't even a relative--kissed him on the cheek. Actual lip-to-cheek contact. Lance was worried he might pass out.

With a small wave, Plaksha turned to strut off after her friend, jet-black hair flowing down her back like an elegant veil.

Lance didn't know why he'd ever doubted the Squip. That was awesome.

* * *

"Hunk!" Pidge greeted over the headset, and Hunk immediately turned the volume down a few notches. Pidge wasn't normally this loud--she must've had big news.

"What's up, Pidge?" he asked, ears still ringing.

"Guess who just finished designing level nine?" Pidge gushed, unable to hold back her excitement.

"The Cafetorium?"

"Yes!!" she confirmed, and now Hunk understood. They'd been stuck on that level design for weeks. Pidge must've worked on it for hours while Hunk was at the mall.

Ooh gosh, the mall. Hunk didn't quite know how to bring  _ that  _ one up, though he knew he probably should. Pidge was the only friend he had who might know something about this squid nonsense.

"And I finally fixed that one glitch with Yellow's new power-up!" Pidge added, undeterred by Hunk's lack of response.

Whoa. Whoa, okay, screw the mall, this was  _ huge _ . "The one with the armor upgrades?"

"You mean the embiggened armor?" Pidge drawled.

Hunk rolled his eyes, putting his head in his hands. "I absolutely don't. Didn't Romelle and I win that argument two-to-one?"

"Well, you haven't suggested a better name yet, so…."

"Fine, fine," Hunk conceded, filing that argument away for later. Pidge had just fixed his character's armor. She could call it whatever he wanted, as far as he was concerned (although 'embiggened armor' was definitely the worst name ever). "Where's Romelle? If we're gonna run through this, we should probably have all three of us here."

They'd been working on designing their own video game for months now, and Romelle was in charge of character designs and lore--which, for the record, she was  _ awesome _ at. It was one of those big projects with a bunch of programming that Lance was completely uninterested in, so Hunk was content to wait until it was finished to show him (Romelle had even designed Lance a character called 'Lancelot', just so he'd feel included).

Either way, this was a three-man project (or, well, a one-man-two-woman project, so to speak), and Hunk didn't want to run through a newly-finished level without his girlfriend there.

Pidge stifled a laugh. "Well, I called her about ten minutes ago, and she said she'd be here in five minutes, so…."

"So it'll probably be another five," Hunk finished, glad Pidge couldn't see Hunk smiling dopily at Romelle's dimmed Discord icon under the 'offline' tab. It was a really cool-looking character from some anime Hunk hadn't seen with a shock of blue hair, and Hunk had long since started to endearingly associate the character's face with Romelle.

Romelle's scatterbrained nature was part of why Hunk loved her so much, but she was always at least a couple minutes late for everything. Usually, it was frustrating, but right now, Hunk was glad to have a few minutes to talk to Pidge in private.

Wait, that sounded bad. Hunk wasn't planning on cheating on Romelle with Pidge. That would be weird. He just wanted to ask about Matt.

The only problem was, well…. Pidge didn't really like talking about Matt. The most Hunk had ever gotten out of her was that Matt turned into a jerk over ninth grade and Pidge hadn't gotten along with him since. That was a serious accomplishment on Pidge's part--Hunk was nosy by nature and prided himself on his ability to learn people's deep, dark secrets. Not for blackmail or anything, just to satisfy his curiosity. Hunk was a curious guy.

But Pidge was adamant: no talking about Matt. She got upset at the mere mention of him, so Hunk would have to be delicate about bringing him up. He'd have to talk smoothly, play it cool, then go in and mention Lance's squid thingy.

That was easy enough, right? Hunk could totally do that. He wasn't nervous at all. He was so cool. Totally cool. The coolest of the cool.

"So what happened to your crazy brother?" Hunk blurted, like an  _ idiot _ . His hand flew to his mouth.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

"What?" Pidge shot back, sounding furious even over the headset. Hunk turned down the volume another notch.

_ Stupid! _

"That- that came out wrong," Hunk said, which, uh, no kidding. "I mean, Matt? How- uh, what's up with him?"

Pidge drew in a shaky breath, like she was barely holding back an outburst, then asked through gritted teeth, "what do you mean? He wasn't a jerk, and now he is. End of story."

Hunk rolled his eyes, half at himself. This was going so well. "Okay, yeah, that's what you told me the last five times-"

"Then why won't you stop asking?" she interrupted, loudly enough that Hunk had to turn the volume down  _ again _ . "I don't like talking about it, okay? Would you quit prying?"

Part of Hunk was tempted to say, 'Pidge, have you met me? Prying is, like, seventy-percent of my personality, and being awkward is the other thirty percent,' but that probably wouldn't have helped his case. Instead, he paused for a moment, let Pidge's breath even out, and gave his ginger reply: "it's- it's important this time. I'm worried about Lance."

"Why?" Pidge asked, bemused. "What does Matt have to do with it?"

"Well, Matt talked to him yesterday, and he said something about a squid or something?"

"A SQUIP?" Pidge cried, and Hunk was going to need hearing aids after this. Pidge needed to turn down her mic.

Wait, Hunk could turn down her mic. That was a good idea.

While Hunk went into his settings and turned down Pidge's mic, she asked, "Lance didn't take a SQUIP, did he?"

"Uh, well, he- I mean-"

Pidge cut him off, voice terse. "Hunk, this is important. Did he take a SQUIP or not?"

Hunk breathed in on a nervous hiss, then admitted, "okay, so he might've done that, a little bit?" His fingers started tapping furiously on his desktop. Was Lance in trouble? Was he going to die? Could he die from this? Had Pidge's brother just killed Hunk's best friend? That would suck!!

"A little bit?" Pidge echoed, unimpressed. "What does that mean?"

"He did, okay?" Hunk exclaimed, unable to keep it in anymore. Lance was in trouble. Oh gosh. Oh gosh, how had he let this happen? "Look, I tried to tell him it was a bad idea, but he blew four-hundred bucks in the back room at Payless. I was there when he took it. I thought it didn't work, so I went to go get a soda because, I dunno, it seemed like the thing to do, and when I got back he was gone. Keith and Allura told me he went crazy and ran away."

There was silence for a moment after Hunk finished his rant. Hunk couldn't hear anything but his own panicked breathing and the sound of his fingers banging out a tattoo on the table. The sound was just making things worse at this point, so he took to rubbing his forearms instead.

Finally, Pidge sighed. "Oh god. Please tell me you're joking."

"So it… wasn't a scam?" Hunk asked, which was stupid. Of course it wasn't a scam, if Pidge seemed this upset. Sure, Hunk got upset over things that didn't really matter, but that totally wasn't a thing that Pidge did. Oh no. Oh gosh. What had Lance just done?

"Hunk, you don't understand!" Pidge retorted in lieu of answering his question. "This is serious. Lance might as well be dead. There's-"

"Hey guys!" Romelle interrupted, as upbeat as ever. Hunk hadn't even noticed her come online. "Sorry I'm late, Bandor wanted to show me his new programming project and I got distracted. Anyway, the new level is finished?"

Hunk didn't know what to say. Lance was dead? What happened? How had he died? What did Pidge mean?

"Uh, yeah!" Pidge replied, and Hunk could hear her fake smile. "Yeah, it's definitely finished. Wanna give it a test run?"

"Sounds great!" Romelle said, and they launched the game. Hunk tried to distract himself, tried to calm himself down, but there was nothing that could get Pidge's words out of his head.

Finally, a few minutes into the game, his computer dinged with a private message from Pidge.

**Pidge: Text after we get off and we can talk. There might be something we can do**

Hunk felt the first burst of relief he'd felt in the last couple minutes. There was still hope. ' **Got it** ,' he replied, and then he shook his head. He had a level to test.

* * *

"Did you see that?" Lance exclaimed, unable to keep from talking aloud. As an afterthought, he held his phone to his ear to ward off the attention of strangers. "That was awesome! I have to find-"

"Too late," the Squip butt in, pointing over to the food court.

There, speed-walking toward him, was Veronica.

Lance was screwed. When had she gotten here?

"Lance!" she cried out as she made her way up to him. "There you are!"

"Veronica?" Lance shook his head, unsure if what he was seeing was real. Veronica lived in the next city over, and while driving to the mall wasn't unreasonable, there were plenty of closer options that would save time and gas money (both of which Veronica valued greatly).

"Are you okay?" she asked, scanning him over like she was expecting to see some injury or a second head. "Allura and Keith called and told me you were having some sort of mental breakdown. Then Hunk sent me a text saying he lost you and it was almost his curfew, so I agreed to give you a ride home."

"Ughhh, you're joking," Lance groaned. It was one thing to have his big sister interrogating him the whole ride home, but  _ Keith _ had talked to her?

"Not my fault," the Squip remarked with a smirk, just to rub it in.

"I'm not joking," Veronica said to Lance, all business as she grabbed his arm and started marching toward the exit with Lance in tow. "Now come on! You can explain what happened on our way back."

"See, you should've taken the ride," the Squip derided as Lance was practically dragged down the concourse. "There would've been a way out of this."

_ How did you know this would happen? _

"I can access every cell phone in the vicinity," he explained, jogging ahead of Veronica so he could face Lance. "Veronica got a call from Allura Alfora's phone approximately twenty minutes ago."

_ And you didn't you tell me because....? _

The Squip's teasing smirk slipped into a sneer, and his eyes went dark. "I told you accepting a ride was imperative."

_ Okay, but you didn't say why! _

"Lance, I can't explain everything to you," the Squip tutted, which was great and all, but this detail seemed  _ kind of _ important. "If this is going to work, you can’t just listen. You have to obey."

The Squip paused for a moment so Lance could stop seething. Then, he said, "you remember those comprehensive scans I did, right? I know you aren't particularly smart, but you need to remember that you're worthless right now."

Lance nodded to himself. Veronica's hand was still around his noodle arm, and he took a second to notice that his eighteen-year-old sister was stronger than he was. Pathetic.

"Now I want you to repeat after me, inside your head," the Squip continued. "Everything about you is terrible."

And, though it went against every self-help book Veronica had ever quoted at him, he repeated it:  _ everything about me is terrible. _

"Everything about you sucks."

_ Everything about me sucks. _

"Good!" the Squip exclaimed, like he was Lance's math teacher and Lance had just memorized some complex equation. "But Lance, you'll soon learn that insofar as you obey my commands, you have the ability to become every bit as cool as you want to be--cool enough for Allura."

It seemed impossible to Lance, right now, like some far-off dream... especially after the Squip had just made him admit how much he sucked.

_ Really?  _ he asked.

The Squip put a hand on Lance's shoulder blade, and Lance had to force himself not to jerk away (what if he got shocked again?) "Yes, everyone will love you. You won't feel left out, or insecure, or ugly. You'll be exactly who you want to be."

Lance finally managed a grin.  _ You mean I'll… be more chill? _

The Squip raised an eyebrow. "Was I supposed to laugh? My comedy sensors don't detect a joke."

"Everyone's a critic," Lance muttered under his breath, and luckily, Veronica didn't seem to hear.

"That is my job," the Squip replied, planting a hand on Lance's shoulder as they strode out into the parking lot. "You need to listen to me, alright? Everything will work out, I promise."

Lance felt a rush of calm wash over him. The Squip was right--he just needed to take the backseat for now, and everything would be fine. Honestly, he'd just gotten a  _ real _ kiss from a  _ real _ girl! What did he have to complain about?

"Oh, and Lance?" Veronica spoke up, voice clipped, as she opened the door to her smart silver Subaru Forester.

"Yeah?" Lance replied, sidling into the passenger seat beside her.

"I'm not an idiot." She deadpanned as she turned on the car. "You owe me five-hundred dollars. Plus interest."

Of course he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shhhh I totally didn't wait four months to post an unbeta'd chapter that totally wasn't what happened what are you talking about aslkjdfksjdk


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